My first published fiction work - sixteen compiled short stories - will begin its dust collection in February 2014. As the writer, I cannot stress enough the personal significance of the work being printed as a real, heavy, tactile book.

When they weren't out subjugating barbarians, the Romans festooned their walls with phalluses. The Vikings only started invading other countries because they'd run out of space in their own toilet cubicles. And one-third of all Neanderthal cave paintings can be translated loosely as 'I've had Ug's mum'.

The park near our house is huge. Ovals, playgrounds, tennis courts and a big creek runs through the park; it's more of a suburb than a park. The park has many places to setup a party, many, many idyllic settings. My Dad had an abundance of places to setup the party table. He set the party table next to a stolen car.

When I am faced with smallness and inanity, I write stories. When I am struck down by the catastrophic grief of life, I write stories. When in my belly writhes a nest of snakes because I am overcome with the knowledge that death waits for all of us--well, you go the idea.

Saunders is a great one for internal reverie. We see directly into his characters' minds - their secret dreams and fantasies - before he reveals these reveries for what they are: delusions. If I have any criticism it is this: he has a habit of revisiting characters, themes and ideas, which in a collection of just ten stories, feels like a bit of a cheat. Nevertheless, this is an absorbing read.

I have long held a love for London's Exhibition Road, and so I was delighted when I was approached to write a short story for Road Stories, an anthology of writing inspired by the road and its famous cultural institutions.

This smorgasbord of stories explores love's dark underbelly. The author kickstarts the collection with a riotous story about a tiger in a zoo which falls in love with its keeper. In a frenzy of passion, it commits an act that sets off a series of events in which, after escaping from captivity, it kills a baby and a woman in the most guileless, unintentional manner.

Other than a fairly crucial commitment to brevity, what is it that makes a short story a short story? As the 2012 edition of the world's richest prize for the form comes to a conclusion, I spoke with this year's shortlist to get their own insights into the art and craft of writing short fiction.

Britain is a funny place. We like to theme our years. The publishing world has decided that 2012 is the Year of the Short Story, when over in America it's pretty much been the decade of the short story.

The Next Thing: McClanahan's first novel will be put out next year by Tyrant Books. He is also writing The Sarah Book in 2012, a chapter of which is included here. Which is all looking pretty good for McClanahan disciples, particularly as he's planning some readings in Europe for next year. Look out for him.

If you were in a bookshop and picked up a collection by Alice Munro it would cost nothing for you to read a story to see if you liked her work. If you did you would then go to the till and purchase the entire collection.